


Victor

by runsinthefamily



Series: Andraste's Kissverse [2]
Category: Dragon Age
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-21
Updated: 2011-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-27 16:03:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/297612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runsinthefamily/pseuds/runsinthefamily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wrote this for flutiebear.  Because she is my bbcakes!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Victor

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Flutiebear](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flutiebear/gifts).



Zevran found Alistair in the sparring yard. He was in trousers and shirtsleeves, sweat soaking the cloth against his back and chest. He was working through basic forms, simple blocks, strikes, parries, but at lightning speed. The look on his face was almost peaceful, but Zevran knew him well enough by now not to be deceived. The minute he was distracted from his task …

Alistair spun on one heel, swept his shield across his body, and struck overhand, driving his longsword into his imaginary opponent. His eyes flickered upward, saw Zevran sitting on the fence. He froze, chest heaving with his breath, sweat drops glittering like jewels in his short bronze hair. Then he straightened, armed his damp brow, and came over.

“How long have you been watching?”

“Long enough to pity your foes. Look at them, strewn about the dirt like so many broken dolls.”

“They were asking for it,” said Alistair, but his smile was faint and the jest forced.

“What did that very dour Orlesian Warden tell you?” asked Zevran. He and Duran had been holed up with Riorden for less than fifteen minutes they’d both come out of the room looking as though they’d done another stint in the Dark Roads, battling broodmothers.

“Nothing,” said Alistair.

“You are a terrible liar,” said Zevran. “No, no, it is alright. Do not tell me. I suppose it is another horrific Grey Warden secret, the revealing of which would compromise your mission?”

“Well,” said Alistair. “Actually, yes.”

Zevran reached out and smoothed his thumb against the groove between Alistair’s eyes. Alistair sighed a little and leaned into the touch, his eyes closing. Zevran gave in to his desire to smile besottedly. New love. It was a drug unparalleled by any other concoction in the world.

“If you cannot speak, then let me assist you in another way,” said Zevran.

Alistair opened one eye and smirked. “Oh really?”

“Put these down,” said Zevran, tapping the shield’s edge. “Last time we sparred unarmed, you cheated. I wish to settle the score.”

The smirk widened. “Who’s to say I won’t cheat again?”

“Ah, but this time, _mi amore_ ,” said Zevran. “I will also be cheating.”

The slight twitch in Alistair’s face, the combination of intrigue and apprehension, was frankly _delicious._

Zevran dropped off the fence, stripping out of his shirt as he did so. “For this to be truly fair, I should perhaps oil myself,” he commented.

“Oil?” Alistair’s voice skipped in the middle of the word.

“Well, you are all slippery with sweat,” said Zevran, leering cheerfully. “Take off your shirt.”

“Perhaps we should move this inside?” Alistair asked, blushing just a little.

“All in good time,” said Zevran as they squared off.

They circled and feinted for a short while, Alistair grinning half in nerves, half in anticipation. Zevran loved his open face, his uncomplicated purity of feeling. It did not translate to battle, he knew that. He feinted and Alistair laughed a little.

“You’ll have to do better than that.” Alistair charged in the middle of the last word, quick as lightning. Zevran twisted, evaded, caught the other man’s ankle with a foot. Alistair fell, rolled, came out into a crouch, sweeping his own foot around. Zevran barely avoided it with a less than graceful standing jump.

Then they were circling again. “It is hardly fair, your speed,” Zevran complained. “You are as large as the golem.”

“I can be slow,” said Alistair, mock-offended. “When slowness is called for.”

“Is that innuendo?” Zevran laughed out loud. “Truly, Wynne was right when she warned you of my corrupting nature.”

“She -” said Alistair and had to swallow the rest when Zevran lashed out with a kick. It barely missed the bridge of his nose. Zevran’s other foot connected squarely with his sternum.

Alistair staggered backward, bringing his arms up to block the flurry of blows that Zevran unleashed. He retreated, retreated, Zevran felt the thrill that always took him when he had an opponent on the run -

\- and then Alistair dropped his guard, took two punches to the ribs with little grunts and closed his fist about Zevran’s left wrist.

“Brasca,” said Zevran, just before Alistair twisted, stepped sideways, stuck a knee into the back of Zevran’s knee and took them both to the ground.

Zevran broke his hold just before they hit the ground and writhed like an eel. Alistair, cursing, flattened his chest against Zevran’s, using his weight relentlessly. Zevran wheezed, struggled uselessly.

“Yield,” said Alistair in a strained voice.

“Never,” said Zevran, and dug his fingers into Alistair’s armpits.

“No, you! No! Zev - ah!” Alistair turned into a squirming, laughing flail of arms and legs, shoving away from Zevran, rolling sideways on the ground. “Stop, stop!”

“Yield!” Zevran called out merrily, following him easily, straddling his hips and dancing agile fingers down Alistair’s sides, into the sensitive flesh just below his navel.

“You - wretched - Antivan!” Alistair sat up, grabbed Zevran’s arms and, with casual, irresistible power, trapped them behind Zevran’s back. “Got you,” he said, his hair askew, his face red, laughter still trembling on his breath.

“Yeeees,” Zevran stretched it out. “You do.”

Alistair licked his lips. “Is it time to move this inside?”

“To the victor go the spoils,” said Zevran, and kissed him.


End file.
